Love Me
by Justaphan665
Summary: Raoul and Christine live happily ever after. . . or do they? I'm really bad at summaries! My first fic so please read and review!
1. Chapter 1

_A/N: This is my first fan fic and I'm rather worried about posting it. I kind of left it at a cliffy, but I'll continue if I get some positive reviews. PLEASE read and review! _

Disclaimer: I really wish I was a genius able to create something like Phantom, but alas- I'm not.

Christine stood in front of the floor length mirror studying her reflection, convinced the woman staring back couldn't possibly be herself. The woman in the mirror was breathtakingly beautiful, clothed in a pure, snow-white gown. It was the kind of dress every girl dreamed of. The bodice, covered with hundreds of hand-sewn beads, clung to her torso. The delicate off-the-shoulder straps were white lace, with a neckline just low enough to see the top of her breasts. The white skirt was puffy and layered, with perfect white bows along the bottom. It was a gorgeous gown, but too expensive to wear for just one day. Her chestnut hair cascaded down her back in perfect spiral curls, small white flowers scattered throughout. Diamonds hung from her ears and graced her neck--a wedding gift from Raoul. Christine placed the veil on her head, pulling the top layer in front of her face, and grabbed her bouquet of white roses and lilies, grasping them tightly.

She shook her head at the image in the mirror and turned her back to it. Her reflection merely showed her physical image, which was the last thing she was concerned about at the moment. Of course she wanted to look beautiful for Raoul, but she knew no matter what, he would always consider her so. What concerned Christine was the pain in her stomach, growing increasingly stronger with each passing moment. In five minutes she would walk down the aisle and wed the only man she had ever loved- so why did she feel this way?

_Erik. _The name pierced her heart like a knife, making her stomach jolt. Christine gripped her bouquet tighter and closed her eyes, attempting to force the name out of her thoughts- she found it impossible. Thinking of the way she had left Erik, alone and pleading for her love, made her heart ache. She had struggled with the memories these past four months, waking up in cold sweats from the nightmares. Erik glaring at her as if she was the reason he lived in solitude, as if she was the only thing he had left. Leaving him was the hardest decision of her life, but one she had made in full confidence- until now. Raoul was the love of her life, her childhood sweetheart, and the last link to her father. He was her protector, and with his strong arms around her she knew nothing would ever happen to her. Yet there was no passion, no music, just the love of her best friend.

A sharp knock on the door interrupted her thoughts, and her eyes snapped open. Straightening her posture she forced the doubts out of her mind. She was marrying Raoul in a few moments and she refused to let anything ruin this day. Her decision had been the right one; it had to be. With a firm nod of her head she forced a smile on her face and went to the door, hand on the knob she called "Who is it?"

"Christine, its Raoul. Open the door." His voice was low, almost forced.

"You know we aren't supposed to see each other before the wedding, silly." She replied, trying to sound lighthearted. "Your mother would have a fit."

"We need to talk, and it can't wait. Open the door, Christine." This time his voice almost sounded pained. She turned the knob and opened the door, allowing him to push it open. She took a few steps backward to give him room to enter. He stopped at the sight of her, his eyes wide. Christine blushed under his intense gaze and avoided eye contact.

"Y-You're beautiful," he stammered. "Although, I wouldn't have expected anything less." He gently took the bouquet from her, placing it on a table. Taking her hands in his own, he looked deep into her chocolate eyes. Christine took in the sight of him, his handsome face and sharp blue eyes. His hair was tied back and she could tell he shaved. Any woman would be lucky to have such a noble man.

"Thank you," she whispered, as if afraid of someone overhearing them. She shifted uncomfortably, curious as to why he was so serious. "Is something wrong?" she asked, unsure of whether she should be afraid of his answer. "You aren't getting cold feet?" she said with a smile. Christine breathed a sigh of relief when he chuckled, although his eyes remained stony, staring straight into hers.

"No, Christine," he said after a moment. "I have been waiting for this day for years now." He dropped her hands and turned his back to her, unable to look at her any longer.

"Then what's wrong, Raoul? We don't have much time." She rested her left hand on his shoulder. He turned to face her, placing his hands on her waist and pulling her to him. He hugged her tightly before letting go and holding her hands once more. He rubbed his thumb over her knuckles and brought them to his lips, kissing the smooth skin.

"Do you love me, Christine?" he asked simply. A painful expression came over his face, and his whole body stiffened. Christine just stared at him, letting his words sink in. She ripped her hands from his and took a step back, trying to decide whether to slap him or not.

"It's our wedding day, and you are asking me if I love you?" Christine choked, anger washing over her as tears welled up in her eyes.

"Yes, Christine. Answer the question. I have to be sure before we do this." Raoul said, his eyes softened at the sight of her tears. It took all his strength to keep from pulling her into his arms, kissing her, and telling her to forget everything he said.

Christine shook her head at him, the tears now streaming down her face. "Of course I love you," she whimpered, taking a step towards him. She couldn't believe he was asking her this; they were supposed to be at the front of the church by now.

"Do you really love me? Does your heart surge every time you look at me? Do you want to spend every second for the rest of your life with me?" He turned his back to her again. Watching her cry had always been too much for him. "Lately you have been distant. Something is missing, and no matter what I do, I can't seem to fill it." He turned to face her once more, tears welling in his own eyes. "I love you Christine. I have for as long as I can remember. I want to marry you and spend the rest of my life with you, but only if that is what you want. Go with your heart, Christine. I want your love; I just need to be sure I have it. Tell me you love me, tell me you want to marry me, tell me I am the only one for you and mean it. If it's true, we will walk into that church and I will bind myself to you forever." Raoul fell silent, overcome with emotion. He simply stared at Christine, a single tear slipping down his cheek.

Christine stood before him, her own tears falling rapidly, burning a path. The silence was thick, filled with tension and pain. She felt he already knew the answer, but she couldn't force herself to confirm his beliefs. Raoul took a few steps toward her and removed the veil from her face, carefully. He tilted her chin up and looked into her eyes it was then he kissed her, soft and tender on the lips. He pulled back and refused to allow her to avoid his gaze. She knew he was waiting for her answer, she had to say something.

"I love you, Raoul." She began, choking back a sob. "I always have, and I always will." She said as she brushed a loose strand of hair from his face. He breathed a sigh of relief, and handed her the bouquet off the table. Taking her hand in his he spoke softly.

"Then let's get married." He said, his voice growing stronger. He turned to the door pulling her arm gently after him. Christine took a step before stopping, her feet glued to the floor.

"Raoul?" she asked her voice barely above a whisper. He stopped suddenly and turned to face her.

"What is it, darling?" he asked, furrowing his brow in concern.

"I can't marry you." She said her eyes wide with fear, tears once again streaming down her face.


	2. Chapter 2

_A/N: Well, obviously I was happy with my reviews so I posted my next chapter. Thank you to those of you who reviewed. They made me VERY happy. Enjoy this chapter and please review! I love feedback! _

Disclaimer: It's not mine, sadly.

Christine locked herself up for hours, refusing to eat or drink. She wouldn't see nor talk to anyone, including Meg. The Girys had been kind enough to take her in after her last minute confession. Christine knew she was being rude by ignoring them, but trusted they knew she needed time. The past twenty-four hours had been hard on Christine— almost as hard as leaving Erik behind. Just months ago she had two men, both desperate for her love, and now she had denied them both— crushing not one heart, but two. She lost not only her angel but also her best friend, her childhood sweetheart— not one man, but two. Christine curled her body into a tighter ball, hoping, _praying_ it might have all just been a dream. Tomorrow Raoul would take her shopping, hold her hand and kiss her cheek, the way it used to be. Heaving a sob, Christine shook her head. No, it would never be the same, because she didn't want it that way. She had the chance to be the Vicomtess and she turned it down.

The bed suddenly felt stiff and the smell of the fabric foreign to her— she longed to be in her own bed. Christine sat up slowly and drew her knees to her chest; she wrapped her arms around them and rocked back and forth slowly. She hadn't felt this lost since her father passed away when she was a little girl. She had nowhere to run, no place to stay- she was alone. The reality hit her hard in the stomach, making her whimper, her eyes welling with tears once more. Her first instinct had been to find Erik, to return to him and beg his forgiveness, but rumor had it he was dead. Christine didn't doubt that he would kill himself; he was miserable and lonely, and she had denied him the hope he needed to survive. As much as it hurt to think him dead because of her, she had known it was a possibility when she left him beneath the Opera House. Raoul had guards placed all over the Opera Populaire; if he didn't kill himself, they would.

She pushed the thoughts out of her mind, instead focusing on her immediate future. She had plenty of time to worry about Erik, mourn his death, even wallow in self-pity, but first she needed to form a plan. Madame Giry would let her stay as long as she needed to; however, she refused to rely upon their hospitality any longer than was necessary. Madame Giry had been taking care of her since she was a girl. Now a full-grown woman, she could no longer rely on others. No … she needed to start relying on herself.

_Easier said than done,_ she thought to herself. Christine sighed and wiped angrily at her tears. _What I need is a job. _The problem was she had no clue how to get one. Madame Giry got her into the Corps de Ballet after her father died, and she had lived at the Opera ever since. That is until Raoul came along, but that was over now, and it was her doing.

Christine swung her legs over the side of the bed, and grasping the side table for support she stood up. As she arched her back she felt all of her muscles stretch. Looking at the clock, she realized she had been shut up in the room for 12 straight hours. Shaking her head at her selfishness, she went to the window and threw open the curtains. The sun was high in the sky and people bustled about the city, women carrying packages, others clutching small children and begging them to behave. Noticing her reflection in the glass, she uttered a small gasp; after the hours she had spent crying and lying in a heap on the bed she was less then presentable. Christine walked over the porcelain basin and dipped her hands into the water. Splashing it on her face, she reached for the soap, using only a little and scrubbing until the skin was raw. Rinsing it with clean water, she felt for the hand towel and dabbed at the skin until all the moisture was gone.

Feeling better, she went to her bags and picked out a fresh chemise, corset, and dress. There was a soft knock on the door and Christine jumped. For a moment she had forgotten there were other people in the house.

"Come in," she called, her voice a bit too high.

"Oh, Christine," Meg said as her best friend came into view. She rushed to Christine and threw her arms around her. "We were worried." Meg pulled back and held her at an arm's length, studying her. Christine's eyes were puffy and red; she could tell she had been crying.

"I'm alright, Meg. I don't know what got into me. Ignoring you and your mother like that… it was terrible of me," Christine spoke, her voice low.

"Don't apologize, Christine. Not to me," Meg replied, pulling Christine into a hug once more. "I understand," she whispered into her curls.

"I know, Meg," Christine said, pulling out of the embrace. "Will you help me dress?" she asked, pulling a new chemise over her head. She put the corset in place and turned her back, taking in a sharp breath when Meg pulled the first laces.

_Get dressed. Get a job. _She repeated the words over and over in her head, refusing to let the urge to flop back on the bed and cry her eyes out win. When Meg was finished she slipped into a simple pink dress she had owned before Raoul and Erik entered her life. Once again Meg's hands worked down her back, clasping and buttoning as they went. It was important to start over, and she might as well start with her appearance.

Once Meg was finished Christine turned to face her, smiling at the girl's face. Meg was so innocent, but never before had Christine noticed the age difference. They were only a year apart, but now Meg seemed so much younger. She had never kissed a man, let alone been engaged to one. Meg had never experienced love, passion, or romance, and she never had to choose. She'd never had to choose between two men, knowing she'd loose no matter what.

_No, Meg is lucky, innocent. _

"Is something wrong, Christine?" Meg asked, concern etched in her face.

"Yes, but let's talk about it later. Alright?" Christine asked, a smile on her face. The last thing she wanted was to hurt someone else. Meg was her best friend; they had been since they were girls and Christine refused to mess that up.

"Alright," Meg said hesitantly, still unsure whether she should press the subject. She wanted to know what had happened between Christine and Raoul. One moment she was standing at the altar waiting for her best friend to walk down the aisle and the next Raoul had made the announcement. He was so collected, but she supposed that was to be expected. There were lots of important people in attendance and the de Chagny family was not one to be humiliated. Meg was dying to ask what had happened, but she dared not ask before she felt Christine was ready, and she had known her long enough to know she wasn't ready.

Christine crossed the room and walked out into the small living and kitchen area. Orange flames danced in the small fireplace. In the corner was a table, two chairs set on either side of it. The table was covered in Meg's books and other small items, her toe shoes abandoned in a corner. The divan was against one wall, an antique coffee table in front of it. Madame Giry's sewing basket was set next to the divan and a grandfather clock was next to the fireplace. A small stove was also in the corner, generating heat into the small room. Although the Giry's house was small, it was homey and comfortable. Christine loved visiting Meg and Madame Giry, because the house was always warm and it felt like home to her.

"I'm going to go out for a bit. I need some fresh air to clear my head. I'll be home before supper. Tell your mother for me, alright?" Christine asked, pained at the expression on Meg's face. Normally Christine would have asked her friend to come along, but today she needed time to herself. She needed to find a job, and that wasn't something she was interested in having Meg along for.

"Sure, Christine," Meg said, giving her a small smile. Christine pulled the girl into a hug, holding her tight. Meg would never understand what her companionship meant to her. Christine released her and walked out the door, shutting it carefully behind her. Breathing in the fresh summer air, Christine started walking, unsure of where to start.

She needed a job, a good job, but where should she look? What could she do? _I can't cook, sew, or clean, _Christine thought to herself as she walked. Slowly she sorted through what jobs she knew were available. Never would she subject herself to becoming a prostitute. She wanted a job, but not that badly. After a few moments Christine decided ballet and singing were her only options. She was horrible with children, and despite Madame Giry's insistence she had never learned to sew properly. Christine sighed as she walked down the cobblestone street. After some walking she arrived at Main Street. She tried a few restaurants offering to entertain customers as they dined. The owners were well aware of her talents and her performance with the Opera Populaire, however they insisted her services wouldn't be appreciated at their facilities. Discouraged, Christine walked towards the Opera House, stopping in front of it and sitting on the front step. This is where her career had begun and ended; her past had died with the fire.

Refusing to give up, Christine rose off the steps and walked back down the street. Two men came out of a pub on her right and she stopped for a moment, eyeing the place suspiciously. She had heard of it; Monsieur Bouquet was rather fond of it and spoke rather highly of the owner. Christine straightened her dress and walked in, her head high. She blinked several times, trying to adjust her eyes to the dim lighting. At the far end of the room was a bar, and a few men sat at small tables scattered throughout the room. At two of the tables the men were playing cards, four of them crowded around. At the other three the men were alone, cradling their drinks in their hands. There was a man far off in the corner writing something on a piece of parchment, clothed in black. Two more figures were in the opposite corner, and a woman's giggles came from their direction.

Already Christine had a bad feeling about the pub, and she didn't like the feeling in her stomach. Squaring her shoulders, she walked up to the bar, sliding onto one of the stools.

"Can I help you, ma'am?" the man behind the bar asked, a dirty rag in his left hand. He eyed her suspiciously, wondering what a woman like her was doing in a pub like this- alone.

"Yes, may I please speak to the owner?" Christine asked, her voice higher than normal. She didn't like the way the man at the end of the bar was looking at her.

"You're looking at 'im." The man replied, smiling a toothless grin. "Name's Clark." He held out his hand and Christine shook it before dropping her hands in her lap. Clark was a large man, about six foot two, Christine guessed. His grip was strong and his hair brown hair was tangled, just skimming his shoulders. He sported a full beard and a mustache, thick and brown. He was intimidating, to say the least, and Christine was eager to get out of the dingy place.

"I'm looking for a job," she started, picking her words carefully.

"We don't need a waitress," Clark interrupted before she had a chance to continue what she was saying. "We have two already."

"Oh, no," Christine said quickly. "I could never be a waitress. I meant entertaining." Clark looked at her curiously, his eyebrows raised.

"Entertaining, eh? Well, I suppose we could use some of that around here. What do you think, boys? You want some entertainment?" The men cheered, raising their mugs. He chuckled. "Alright…" Clark paused, trying to recall her name.

"Christine. . ." she offered.

"Alright, Christine, you're hired. We'll make it temporary, though, see if it pleases the customers. Come in ev'ry night this week. You start at five and work until closing, usually around two. I'll pay you twenty francs a night, plus tips to _entertain_. It's a good offer," he said, grinning at her.

"Wonderful. I'll be here tomorrow night. Do you have any requests?" she asked, thinking she should be prepared with her music.

"No, just wear somethin' pretty," Clark said, nodding his head. Christine said goodbye and shook his hand once more, walking quickly out of the pub. "Hell, I might be your first customer," he said to himself, shaking his head at her. The man at the end of the bar let out a booming laugh, slopping his ale down the front of him. _Foolish girl,_ Clark thought to himself as he continued cleaning the bar.


End file.
